A Second Chance
by lightpatronus
Summary: If you could do anything to take back a wasted life, would you? Hermione Granger has that choice. She deserves to live her life right, like it should have been done the first time. This is her second chance. T for now, It'll be M later.
1. An Empty Life

**Summary: Hermione's life has gone before her eyes, full of wishing she could have fixed things. What happens when she gets that opportunity? And what happens when she encounters a young Draco Malfoy, the rival of her childhood? Does she get revenge, or something else? **

**I do not own or am no way affiliated with J.K. Rowling or the Harry Potter franchise. I wish I was though. That'd fucking amazing.**

**Anyways, enjoy!**

**Read & Review!**

**Song Rec for this chapter is "So Ordinary"- Ryan Star**

**Reminder: This is a _Dramione._ Draco will be in the next chapter, I promise!**

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><p><span>Second Chances<span>

_Isn't it funny how light is only relevant if it is compared with dark? _

_Light in itself is unnoticeable, blending in with the background. But with darkness, light is vibrant. Light is beautiful. Light is** shining. **_

"Well, I don't understand why we should have any complications, then. She's agreed to take to dose of veritaserum and present her case to court. We've got more than sufficient evidence to prove she's guilty, add a confession and it's fair game," Hermione said over the the corded phone on her desk, which had restricted her pacing room."Relax, Hannah. We've got this. We've been doing cases like these for twenty years. Get some sleep and I'll meet you tomorrow outside of the Ministry's north entrance. Yes, at eight. Goodnight."

Hermione put down the phone in its place and groaned of fatigue. She ran the tips of her fingers through the front of her hair, most of which was pulled up in a tight bun. She felt the clumps of hair break from one another, eyeing the small white powders of worn out hairspray that floated in the air before her. The witch felt herself becoming tired more easily-it was bound to happen sooner or later, with over two decades of overtime put in.

It was worth it for her, for she was Hermione Granger, Head of the Department of Magical Law. She was the youngest to achieve this position. Given she was approaching the 60 mark, she still beat out Arthur Phyllman, her closest competitor, who's youngest age in office was at 75.

Her life could be personified as a medal of achievement. Meaningful, and desired by many others, but in actuality it was just cold and lonely. She gathered various files and papers and sorted them into their places into her black leather briefcase.

Her short heels clicked against the granite floor in her office. She scanned her office one last time to check if she'd forgotten anything. She hadn't. Her office was clean and organized, as expected from her. She had only one photograph on her desk, withered and slightly torn from the wearing of many years, but preserved by a silver frame. It was a photo of her in her youth-joined by Ron Weasley and Harry Potter at her side.

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><p>They would always be her first and best friends, even though she hadn't spoken to Harry face-to-face in over a decade. Sure there were letters here and there, but nothing even remotely close to what it had been in their youth. The battle had tied the trio together, a bond like that could never be broken. They were connected by the adventures and events of their youth, internal ties that could never be broken. She still exchanged owls with him every other week, after all this time.<p>

As for Ron, sadly, things weren't as simple as that. After the battle, he'd declared his love for her. Hermione declared hers, and their story slowly progressed from there-until about thirty years ago, when she was in her late twenties. She'd been certain they were going to end up together, she was so used to being with him. She'd never known anything else, really. Her confidence in him seemed so legitimate, she didn't even have a doubt before he rejected her proposal. She had asked him to marry her, being as strong-minded and confident as she was. She'd reasoned the only explanation he hadn't done so himself was timidness.

They were at the Weasley Burrow, which was rarely unoccupied except for themselves. They'd just finished the dinner she made, and Hermione had invited him to come outside with her under the night sky. He joined her, unaware of her intention. The question then left her lips in a hopeful smile, only to meet the dumbstruck, blank expression that Ron was portraying. "'Mione," he said to her, "I've been with you as long as I can remember, and I've only really thought about being with you. But, I think it's because I've only been with you. You can't know until you try other things to compare it to, I guess," he shrugged, almost nonchalantly deflecting her offer.

Without another word, she gathered her things and left to spend the night at The Leaky Cauldron.

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><p>Between then and the accidental encounter at the pub, every owl he sent was ignored, the letters acting as kindle in the flames she produced from her fireplace. Her heart had been broken beyond repair, her entire view on the world had changed. It used to be filled with optimism and a bright future, now replaced with discourtesy and conformity. She had begun to focus on her blossoming career, succumbing to the conformity of government employment.<p>

One select night after a long and tedious day at her work, she decided to stop at the closest pub she could find and cut loose for the night. She entered the facility and headed straight to the bar, ordering a raw shot of gin. As the bartender prepared her second round, she heard the the door shut across the room.

She wouldn't have recognized him if it wasn't for the shaggy ginger mop of hair on his head. The hair she used to love, the hair she used to run her fingers through. Part of it was her blurring vision, but he had changed as well. He'd grown noticeably rounder, and had a severe case of a five o' clock shadow.

He noticed her instantly, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. It'd been about a year since he turned her down, a year since they've spoke. He greeted her in an awkward hug which left one of her arms squished between his protruding gut and her own stomach. He asked the standard small talk questions; about work, hobbies, etc. She heard a high pitched beeping noise coming from him and eyed him, confused.

He excused himself and crossed the room. Hermione was a bit intoxicated by this point, so she stumbled over to where he was standing in the opposite corner of the room.

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><p>"I know...Yeah I'll be home in a bit...No I'm all set...You sure, I'm driving by...Alright then, I'll see you at home. Love you too," he mumbled into his cellphone.<p>

Hermione was a good two feet behind him, clumsily eavesdropping. He turned and she was directly in front of him

"Who was _that_?" she spat.

Ron's already coloured cheeks had grown red, and Hermione leaned on one of her hips and crossed her arms, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Erm.."Mione there's something I need to tell you."

Outisiders saw a disgusted Hermione smack Ron across the face before huffing out the door, leaving him with the check.

In one year, not only had he had another girlfriend, but he married her too. She had what Hermione wanted most, she was in Hermione's spot. She had to literally bite her tongue to not cause a scene. She couldn't cause a scene, she was Hermione Granger. She had a reputation to uphold. She had to watch her tongue, no matter where she was. She'd do anything to maintain her golden image.

She lay in her bed that night, a few bottled of various liquids strewn about her normally pristine room. Before then, she'd never really let go. She always had this sliver of hope in her heart that he'd realize that she was his, and come to claim her like they did in those muggle movies her Mum used to watch. She didn't know if it was the alcohol or the heaviness of the situation, but everything around her seemed to be descending at a rapid pace. Her mascara had been liquefied by her tears, staining her cheeks.

Old Crookshanks lay at her feet, engulfing her feet in his coat of fur. That was the only thing that kept her head in reality, a cat. She wiped the back of her hand against her hot cheeks, rubbing off the mascara that had made its way down there. Her eyelids had become puffed, and she found it hard to keep them open. The images in her head began to fade and dull, and she eventually drifted off into the nothingness that was sleep.

She swore she could feel the cracks in her heart that night.

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><p><strong>AN: Thank You so much for reading, you have no idea what it means. Let me know of any improvements that you'd like to see, your opinions on the story, etc.**

Thank you again! As a reminder, this will definitely be a **_Dramione. _**Don't worry, we'll introduce Draco in the next chapter, which will be up in about a day or two ;)

xoxo Kate


	2. Unwanted Reunion

**A/N: Hi everyone! Here's chapter two, as promised. This one took me a little while to write, mainly because there's two HUGE foreshadows in here that will be important later. Oh man, I can't wait to see your reactions to what happens next. AH!**

**Anyways, I don't own Harry Potter & Co. Never will.. :(**

**Oh and the song for Hermione in here is "A-Team" by Ed Sheeran. **

**Read and Review!**

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><p><strong><span>SECOND CHANCES<span>**

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The ray of sun blazed through the thick, burgundy curtains next to her bed, ending right on her face. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and wrinkled her nose, stretching her tired body. She reluctantly dragged herself up and made her bed, tucking in the sides so the corners had perfect creases. Not like anyone was going to see them, really.

She trudged into the bathroom down the narrow hallway, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

_What have I become? _

If you hadn't seen her recently, you probably wouldn't have recognized her. Her eyes seemed to be masked by the dark bags that were underneath them, a consequence of long, tired nights and interrupted slumbers. Although she kept her figure, her skin had lost the luminosity it possessed when she was younger. Her hair had been cut above her shoulders and her curls had dulled down quite a bit. She reminded herself of a thinner version of Umbridge. _Dear god._

Her hands splashed her face with cold water, waking up whatever part of her body was still asleep. Her rest had been dreamless as it normally was. What was there to even dream about? She'd reached the top of her career branch. She had more money than she knew what to do with. But money didn't fill the hole that was ever-present inside of her. Money was just material, it offered no actual comfort to her.

It was almost as if her days were becoming longer, and the ticks on her clock had slowed their pace. This only meant that she had more time to regret, to hopelessly wish. She thought of the decisions she would change, how she could save herself from this…this..._**nothing**_ that had become her life. She thought of what she could become, how happy she could have been.

Yet here she was. Alone, no children to call her own. The only thing she could call her own was her flat. Her cold, empty flat. It didn't matter how much money she had, it was pointless if she had nothing to use it for. She'd grown bitter over the years of solitude and desolation.

"I'm fucking_ Umbridge," _she whispered to herself pathetically.

She conversed with her co-workers of course, but wouldn't really consider them friends. They were the closest she had, though. Then there was Crookshanks, but he was a damn cat. Hermione laughed at herself, she fit the stereotype like a lock and key. Outsiders looked at her in pity, thinking to themselves how sad it was to see such a hero fall into conformity, to become nothing spectacular or what she deserved. She didn't get angry, because Hermione thought it too.

She shook her head of clouded thoughts and got a handle on her mane, coating it with a layer of hairspray to keep her curls maintained.

Twenty minutes or so later, she walked out the door and into the frigid open air. The sun's heat was only shining on her head and shoulder, offering some relief. She could see her breath in little white puffs before her, only to dissolve into nothing. She crossed the street with her head down, examining her heels that she had chosen to wear that day.

Her unimportant thoughts were interrupted by the sudden and blaring sound of an approaching car horn. She spun forward and held her hands before her, attempting to stop the vehicle. The car screeched and the smell of burnt rubber wafted in the air around her, but came to a stop just before her.

The driver, who was a younger man in his mid-fifties with a receding hairline, rolled down his side window and yelled, "Oi, where the hell you think you're goin! You're going to get yourself killed!" He muttered something else inaudible before settling back into his seat.

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><p>Hermione offered an apologetic smile and hurriedly made her way across the street. She glanced around her to see if anyone noticed the scene. Perhaps a few, but nothing too much. She didn't want anyone to see her enter the ministry through the phone booth around the corner. She deposited her change, and the grey platform underneath her began to lower into an elevator compartment. She stepped off the platform and onto the dull-colored carpet of the elevator.<p>

She straightened out her fitted tan pencil skirt and re-adjusted her crème-white blouse underneath her corresponding blazer. The shaft came to a jutting stop, causing Hermione to almost lose her balance. Once she regained herself, she made her way from the elevator to the enormous black tiled lobby of the ministry.

With a glance at the clock, she walked swiftly to her office, bumping into a few bustling workers who were underneath her. She had a meeting with a new client in five minutes, but knowing her secretary Abbey, the meeting probably started about ten minutes ago.

She reached the door of her office, not surprised it was open. Through the doorframe she saw Abbey talking to someone, but the wall hid their identity. She cleared her throat and entered her office, provoking an introduction from her secretary. She turned to face the client with a universal smile, but when her eyes focused on the man in front of her, the smile dropped off of her face.

Draco Malfoy. His hair line had receded and his skin had become blemished, but she could tell that smirk anywhere. It was practically trademark, for Godric's sake. His eyes were still that same cold, grey color that had always reminded her of a thunderstorm.

He cocked one eyebrow and she realized she'd forgotten to speak. "Right, erm," she stuttered, "Nice to meet you, I'm Hermione and I'll be handling your case," she held out one solid hand to him, hoping that he didn't remember her name after all of these years.

He met her hand in a brief, firm grip and folded his hands in his lap. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. But you already knew that, didn't you, Granger?" he smirked.

She feigned a look of surprise and added, "Draco Malfoy? I hardly recognized you, how are you?" she said as politely as she could. Of course she recognized him, of course she remembered him. He was her childhood rival, often interrogating her during and between classes. He was the first person to ever call her a Mudblood, even as a small child. She wasn't going to go into hysterics; her childhood bully was almost diminutive when compared to the other struggles in her life. She just had to put work in front of emotions, as she always did. If she did her job well, she could have this case done and over with in about two days.

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><p>She didn't notice his answer; she was too caught up inside her own head. She noticed everyone staring and assumed it was her turn to speak.<p>

"Good, good. So, how can we help you?" She asked impersonally.

"He's attempting to pass a building permit," Abbey answered.

Hermione nodded at her secretary and thanked her before motioning that she be on her way. Abbey flashed an overly large smile at Draco and nodded to Hermione before exiting her office.

He leaned back in his chair and laid his arms on the armrests. He smirked to himself and snickered.

"Imagine that, I still got it after all this time."

Hermione discarded her professional façade and scoffed.

"You can't still have something you never had in the first place, Malfoy, " she countered.

"Really?" He leaned forward in his chair, propping his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his fists, "Now how d'you figure that, Granger? Weasley tell you that? Because we all know how difficult it is to get Lavender," he sneered.

Hermione narrowed her eyes into slits and crossed her arms defiantly. "_Ronald_ is completely irrelevant, I have a distinct memory of you being repulsive."

He sat back in his chair and stared at her for a minute.

"I wasn't supposed to communicate with who I was taught to be beneath me," he ended, staring past Hermione.

She wasn't expecting that, not at all. In fact, she'd already thought of a retort. She walked over towards her desk in front of the chair he was sitting and took her seat behind it. The witch then shuffled some papers into a folder and rested her hands on the desk.

She once again cleared her throat and changed subjects, ignoring the discomfort that now seemed to be lurking in the air.

"Well, the first thing we'll need to do is classify your property so we can assess the taxes. Commercial or residential?"

"Residential," he answered plainly.

She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a few papers. She slid them across the desk towards him and placed a pen on top.

"Just fill these out, and I'll submit the application and contact you when it becomes approved. It'll take about a week, give or take a few days," she informed him.

He rolled his eyes and began to fill out the papers.

"You know Granger, I'm a bit more surprised than I should be. I'd figure you to have a job that involves telling other people what to do and assuming things, but I'd never thought you'd _actually_ do it," he remarked.

Hermione's jaw tensed and nostrils flared. "Why is that, Malfoy?" she spat.

"Because you were better than this."

He slid the completed papers across the desk, subconsciously pocketing the pen she'd given him and stood up. Without another word, he strutted across the room and to her doorway."

"Malfoy you need to make an appointment with—"

"I'm free next Tuesday at 4."

Then he was gone.

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><p><strong>AN: I reaaaaally loved writing that last bit. Dialogue is my favorite c: **

**What'd you guys think?**

**Oh and feel free to leave song suggestions! **

** R E V I E W 3 **


	3. Wet Dreams & Coffee

**In case you guys forgot, I don't own Harry Potter. just to clear up any confusion.**

**I have a better authors note at the end.**

**READ AND REVIEW !**

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><p><span>Second Chances<span>

.

.

.

The rest of Hermione's day seemed to race past her. She read his paperwork at least one hundred times, but towards the middle she'd always lose focus and the words began to blur.

She hadn't even finished when Abbey popped her head in to announce that the workday was over.

She looked at her in disbelief; that meant she'd have been there like that for over two hours. She looked at the clock in hopes of Abbey being wrong, but to no prevail.

_God damn, what the hell have I been doing?_

Then she looked down at the paper, which now contained wrinkles on its side from frequent handling.

_..Oh._

"…Miss Granger? I asked if you were leaving?" asked Abbey a bit impatiently.

"Hm? Oh, yes. I'll file this then I'll be on my way. You're free to go if you want."

Abbey gave a curt nod before exiting, her flats audibly scuffing the tile floor.

Hermione stood up from the chair behind her desk, only to find that her legs had become painfully sore, most likely from sitting there doing nothing important for such a long time.

She opened up her bottom desk drawer and pulled out a new manila folder. She reached for the pen on her desk, only to discover it was gone.

That bastard.

Hermione perturbly reached across the desk and grabbed one of the promotion pens she had in a container on the top left corner of her wooden cherry desk.

She scribbled his name on the open tab of the blank manila folder and placed his papers inside. She put the file under her "M" section in the back of her office, next to the bookcase behind the desk.

She closed the metal drawer containing his file a bit harder than she normally would.

Hermione didn't bother walking home, her legs were far too sore for even that. She locked her office door and apparated with a Pop! to the alley behind her apartment building in which her flat was located.

The lobby of the building was fairly clean, the rug in the middle of the room made a nice touch. There was the clerk's desk on the farthest wall, but nobody was ever there, really. The wall next to that stood two entrances to the elevators, which were becoming Hermione's choice method of transportation more and more. The wall next to that, and across from the clerks desk, was the main entryway, containing a fairly expensive looking revolving door, which distracted well from the pale yellow wallpaper that had just begun to curl in the corners. The last wall contained a standard picture of a vase of flowers; Hermione truly didn't care for that painting. She never had. Then there were the stairs, but they were never used really, except for her when she was able to climb without regretting it an hour later.

She pressed the plastic button with the arrow pointing upwards between the two elevator doors and shifted her weight onto her hip. She always played this game in her head to guess which shaft would open first, and she was usually right.

The door to her left opened smoothly as she stepped inside the monothematic elevator room. The wall, the floor, the ceiling, everything was an unalarming grey. The doors came to a close and she counted the numbers as she approached her floor.

One…Two …Three… Four… Five… Six…Seven…

Eight. Ding.

She held her briefcase to her side as she strutted down the empty hallway, the soft yellow lights they had installed above complimented the yellow wall and red carpet quite nicely, almost feigning elegance.

Almost.

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><p>Once she had unlocked her door and set her things down on the kitchen island near the front door, she began to trace back the events of her day.<p>

Wake up. Get Dressed. Go to work. Malfoy. Nothing. Home.

"Mum's a real jetsetter, huh Crooks?" she said to the cat, who had come out of its hiding to run back and forth between her legs. She bent down and pet the old cat, giving him a kiss on the forehead.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her calendar and her eyes automatically went to the next upcoming Malfoy.

Hermione found it hard to believe that Draco Malfoy was still as much of an irritating git as he had been in their youth. I guess some traits stay alive with age.

She slipped out of her skirt, blazer, shirt, and under dressings and pulled on her favorite robe. It was red satin and felt divine on bare skin.

She loosened her bun to let her short graying curls fall, only to have them bounce back up into their natural place.

The knob twisted and a heavy stream of water erupted form the faucet filling her bath.

Once filled, she slipped of the robe and sunk herself into the soothing water, closing her tired eyes.

Behind her eyelids, her mind had been replaying the scene with Malfoy today.

"Because you were better than this."

He was right, of course. The job was wonderful for her reputation that she had. What he meant was she was better than to succumb to that reputation.

She knew she was better, too. Things happen in life, as a result of a decision you couldn't have predicted. She could have had such a different life, only if she would've known. If she'd known, she could have saved herself from this bland, monotonous life she led.

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><p>Crookshanks pawing at her arm that had been draped over the side of tub is what woke her up. She hadn't slept that well in years, whether it was in bath water or not. She'd been smart enough to put a charm on the tub to prevent accidental drowning a while ago.<p>

Her eyes fluttered open as she subconsciously stroked the orange furred cat's large head.

She exited the bath, drained the water, and slipped into her night robes.

Hermione then gravitated to her warm, inviting, but empty bed. She was exhausted for no apparent reason, so she submerged herself in her blankets and gave into the night.

Hermione awoke that morning with droplets of sweat on her forehead and her covers strewn across her large bed. She had a dream, most definitely had a dream, the first one in a while.

She sat straight up and attempted to remember as much as she could about this rare dream of hers.

She remembered flashing images.

A lust-filled, sweating head above her own, seeming to advance himself onto her.

She had dreamed of herself as she were in her earlier years, beautiful and young. But the face she saw was definitely familiar. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on its features. A long, aristocratic nose, defined jaw, and these eyes that had stared into hers. Grey eyes that stared into hers.

Grey eyes.

Merlin, no. Please be some sort of sick joke.

She wiped her forehead, noticing it's dampness.

She had just awoken from a wet dream about Draco Malfoy. Well, shit.

Hermione's sudden yell of horror caused even Crookshank's old bones to scurry off the bed in fear. She frantically jumped out of her bed, not even bothering to make it. She took an unnecessary shower, hoping to scrub off any residue of the dream. Underneath the hot water, her mind wandered off into its own, eventually replaying bits of the dream on her eyelids.

He was naked, yes, definitely naked, and on top of her. He had her wrists pinned by his masculine hands above her head, smirking down at her in lust, in want. In need. In the dream, she had thrown back her head and moaned, her long brunettes curls that she so desperately missed had pillowed around her petite face. He called her name, but it wasn't Granger. It was Hermione. The way his upper lip curled around the "e" made her go absolutely wild, so strongly that she felt it through the memory and into the shower.

Her eyes snapped open and she shook her head desperately, turning off the water at once.

She found herself struggling throughout the day to keep the naughty dream out of her head. It was Saturday, so she'd figure she'd head out to get the post and a cup of coffee while she was at it.

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><p>She wore a simple purple turtleneck sweater with dark wash denim and moccasins, wrapping a soft white scarf around her neck to protect her from the frigid wind that had arrived that morning. Her favorite place to go was a small bistro about a half mile down from her complex, called "Casa del Cambiamento." The small golden bell rang when she walked through the door, receiving a smile from the nearly ancient Italian man behind the counter.<p>

She returned the smile and held up one finger, ordering her usual. She loved the feeling you get when you make contact with something hot when you're cold, that transition between temperature. The man slid her cup across the counter and she handed him to appropriate payment. She sat at a booth in the back corner, almost overlooked if you glanced quickly, for it was masked by the booths beside it. On the way to the table, she grabbed a newspaper that had been lying on one of the front tables, oddly it was unopened.

She had just taken her first sip in the booth when she heard a pair of shoes shuffling down the aisle. They sounded like they stopped right in front of her, so she looked up.

"Merlin, I can't take a piss for five seconds without someone like you stealing my shit!" a voice yelled.

Her eyes had just gone into focus when he spoke.

"Honestly I should—" he began, but as soon as he had recognized her, Draco smirked. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Granger. Gone on an adrenaline rush, stealing others things, hmm?"

Hermione was not expecting this, she wasn't expecting this at all.

"I..I—Well…you shouldn't have left it laying around!" she yelled.

He simultaneously hushed her and lowered himself into the seat across from her.

"Mind keeping it down to a scream, I'm trying to keep a low profile around here…" he muttered, snatching the newspaper out of her hands across the table.

"Why are you even here, Malfoy?"

"That's none of your concern, Granger."

"Actually, it is, seeming as if it could affect your case."

"Well, it won't. So no need to worry."

"I think it'd be a good idea to let your representative know, for the fact that she, by she I mean I, can decide whether this passes or not."

"Fine. I'm touring. Happy?" he grumbled, looking embarrassed.

Hermione burst out laughing, not even bothering to keep quiet.

"Draco Malfoy, self-proclaimed hater of muggles and mudbloods, _is touring the place of their origin_?"

Draco had stood up by now and grabbed Hermione by the elbow, the newspaper tucked under his other arm. Hermione's free hand was clutched onto her coffee as she was basically dragged against her will out of the bistro.

She yelled a word of gratitude to the kind old man who had served her, and he had just smiled to himself.

"Ah l'amore, mi scalda il cuore."

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><p><strong>AN : Sorry for the mini-delay! School and such, bleh. But let me know if you liked it! I had such a good time writing it, oh man. But I'm tired and have to get up in 3 and a half hours, so goodnight!**

**READ AND REVIEW!**


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